Armistice Quite Amorous: Licentiousness For Lancia
by Quillon42
Summary: Takes place at the end of Contra: Shattered Soldier and considers alternate outcome wherein Lance (yes, Lance...not that ornery bastard Bill) and Lucia each help the other so convalesce in the coziest of ways.


ARMISTICE QUITE AMOROUS: LICENTIOUSNESS FOR LANCIA

By Quillon42

Certainly it was a conflict most contumacious between the gymnastically-gamboling grunts and the imperialistic intelligentsia who wished to garrote the galaxy of all of its exotic energy resources. Only after overcoming the fiendish battalions of the Blood Falcon…only after enduring various of mechanized romps at searing speeds while facing off against everything from the insipid infantry to the egregious elite—and having to learn the patterns of the latter the hard way through droves of deaths, then finally thwarting those boorish bullies once thirty times thirty times thirty Contra corpses had amassed in the enemy's wake—only then was victory visited upon these heroes so hardened and such.

Amidst it all, the bombastic bastard known as Bill Rizer reveled in his manifold freedoms. Not only had he brought an alien-alienating peace back to the planet once more…he had been freed from a cryogenic condemnation of ten thousand years as well. Having been framed in an earlier insidious incident for the extermination of billions, Bill was released from the coldest custody of suspended animation so he could take down those traipsing through the troposphere anew. With him this time though was not Lance Bean, the other truculent trooper who was the pseudo-Stallone to his ersatz-Schwarzenegger (at least according to cover image of the original Nintendo iteration of this epic series).

Nay, accompanying the invasion-eliminating insurgent now was a cyborg most comely, a bionoid most babelicious, an android most alluring. Forsooth this lady originally christened LCR by her eccentric progenitor Geo Mandrake, but known to most among this desolate demesne as Lucia, she would be the banging British Space Destroyer to PFC Rizer's Vic Viper in fact. Yet when it came to more private objectives for the operatives, the two would never know one another anywhere else than on the battlefield. After all, because the Rizemeister had already maintained his own automated harem at home, his abode in truth a realm of Realdolls designed to rid his mind of Red Falcon, he did not require "ai" (or "love" in the Japanese parlance) from the AI of Lucia.

There was, however, a more virginal guerilla who could benefit from the bodacious bolts and bytes of said brunette bucket of lust most lethal. Scores of soldiers in these commando companies had copulated just as much as they contra-ed, if not moreso. There was one cadet, though, who was so committed to the corps' cause that he forewent such carnally consummate pleasures. Insanely gaga was this gunman, even to the juncture that he would ingest an alien for the sake of exposing that Triumvirate which withheld the truth from the public about their motives and machinations.

This ever canny Corporal Lance in fact was loaded with valor and virtue, yet not busting at the beams with brains honestly. So unbeknownst to this military monolith of a man, the specimens he had swallowed were insidious enough to overtake his system to the point of corrupting the cavalryman, converting him into a puppet most putrid for the three connivers known as Commodus, Gaius, and Nero.

Yet in the end the Contras conquered the day as Bill and Lucia defeated the diabolical dabblings of those who would allow organisms most unearthly and unholy to assimilate the earth. Of course, for Bill's part, it made the man the planet's most prominent hero…but it didn't make him any less of an asshole…and this was another reason as well why he could not connect with Lucia.

Even a machine of a maiden like her could see it; even the aliens on occasion made note of the unctuous ruffianness of Rizer. One could witness for instance, during the first vaunted adventure concerning the cartridge nestled in the NES, that those manning certain installations would sometimes emit the damage recoil sound GAINGE GAINGE GAINGE when fired upon by Bill…but there were additionally various off instants in which white noise would issue in said sound's place (particularly when two damage effects happened to play at once)…and then the enemy cannon or barrier in question would cry COCK COCK COCK COCK COCK COCK. This was not, mind you, the registering of destruction upon the foes' devious devices, but rather an affirmation by the evil legions and their artillery regarding the substance of what Bill Rizer was in fact.

As such, then, Lucia had become much more intrigued—as well as much more attracted—to Lance, especially given to boot that he was the one whom she effectively would replace as Bill's working partner. And now it was this she-cybernetic who approached the supine form of Lance, who in this rendition of the tale was still alive, but barely hanging on after his encounter with the Contras. Partially out of copious compassion, and somewhat as well out of computerized concupiscence here, Lucia decided that she desired to cure Lance of his outer space maladies through a most immediate and affectionate method on her part.

Now the corneas of the Corporal were no longer contained behind eyelids fluttering while death was hovering…no indeed, now said eyes were well widened as the man witnessed the synthetic sister in front of him, atop that soaring escape plane just as the heroes hurriedly hustled out of that portal most pernicious, as she had kicked off her boots of bismuth, as she now gave up her gloves of gunmetal, as she had now shed her leotard of lead. There she stood before him, she bedecked now only in panties of platinum, in bold brassiere of brass, and in hairband of hafnium.

Lance was certainly in no shape and was of no mind to resist the ravishing roustabout of a robot

as she brought to bear an armory most amorous to ever unload upon his extraterrestrially-infected frame. What actually emanated from the man, at first, was an ungodly array of alien life as his urethra unforeseeably expanded to emit living larvae from his most sensitive space. Equally unbelievable, though, was the fact that Lucia was locked and loaded for such an occasion.

[FROZZZZZZ]

[FROZZZZZZ]

[FROZZZZZZ]

So did the slimy suckas secede to the furious force that was this manufactured femme. In the flicker of a fireball launcher, the warehouse-whelped woman had slipped off her alloyed underpanties and allowed the aliens in…only for the latter to fall victim to the electrified field she maintained at the synthetic gate of her salami garage. Just as the Red-Falcon-foilers had frizzled a bit while taking on the well-armed hallways of Base One and Base Two, so too had the otherworldly opposers been electrified by virtually the same kind of energy as they attempted to invade the lady's love trench.

And now it was time for the Lancia that were these two lovers to delve into Base the Third…and beyond.

Terrifically the two tandemed together, his belligerent tongue converting her Snow Field to an Energy Zone in instants. Truculently trucked Lance's cart of canines and bicuspids through Lucia's hysterically-happening Hangar, he obliterating her internal obelisk of intimacy-inexperience and changing it to a gushing Waterfall. Lucia in turn allowed her alabaster-alloyed ass to course across the countenance of her latent lover, the lips of the latter engaging the fanny of the former in turn, verily so for a fortnight lasting longer than the fad of the banal battle royale game going by a similar name.

Voraciously now did the veteran nuzzle his nose along the titanium thighs of his military mistress, now did he kiss so feverishly the beryllium belly, now did he mouth at the bared barium breasts flooding his features. It was then, as Lance let it all out with the laser from his jouncing jeep snail, as the Contra cut loose with his scattering spread shot, his floating power-up football flying groinlong into her Probotected pillbox, did Lucia wail like a woman as she never did on any mission.

 _"Gainge Gainge Gainge,"_ she whispered softly, passionately, this amative oracle uttering into the soldier's auricles as Lance unleashed his payload into her softest of drives. _"Cock Cock Cock Cock Cock Cock."_

Yea it was then, at last, his mojo-jerry-rigged Jungle Bridge exploding with the friction of their unprecedented lovemaking, inspiring an explosion of the id sounding not unlike the destruction of an installation at the end of an NES level…

[BOOKA BOOKA BOOKA]

[BOOBKA BOOBKA BOOBKA]

[WHOWWWWWWHOWWWWWWHOWWWWWW…]

EPILOGUE

So devastatingly reality-shattering was this midair tryst between Lance and Lucia that all alien essences were expelled from the former, and much more humanity was hushed into the latter. It was the case now with the alloyed lady, in fact, that she couldn't even be referred to as android, bionoid, or cyborg anymore—she was basically a de facto human woman for all intents and purposes, thanks to the passionate plantings perpetrated upon her by Corporal Bean.

Another effect of the incident was that the getaway airbus had been so compromised by the prurient pairing that it would need to make an emergency landing with as little weight as possible.

Because of this, the constipated chopper from the end of NES Super C retrieved the three heroes, and they as they huddled in the heli, this couple who would soon give L(ance) L(ucia) Bean an all new meaning held each other and looked deeply into one another's eyes.

"You gotta save some of that oomph for the outing I've got planned for us," rapped PFC Rizer, he holding up what appeared to be a mixtape covered in camouflage decals. "I'm counting on you both to be in my new band, along with some other Contras. It's going to be called Raucous Loungechair…it's a Metal Slug reference, yeah?"

(Please nobody steal that band name; this author does not jam or anything, but he plans to use it in the next life when he learns to do so then).

As the vehicle they all occupied had continued to vroom through the vapor, all Lance and Lucia could consider was the fugue of fuck that they would once again engage in upon getting back to HQ.


End file.
